When We Dance
by brent-dog
Summary: "The priest has said my soul's salvation / Is in the balance of the angels / And underneath the wheels of passion / I keep the faith in my fashion / When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings" - My idea of what Bruce was thinking when he danced with Diana in 'Maid of Honour, Pt. 1'. BMWW, One-shot.


Author's notes: Just my idea of what Bruce might have been thinking when he and Diana danced for the first time in 'Maid of Honour Pt.I'.

Big props to my Beta, Dinasis, for all his help on this.

Reviews, good or bad, are welcomed and appreciated.

Standard disclaimers apply, insofar as Batman and Wonder Woman are the property of Warner Bros and DC Comics. I claim no ownership of them, nor do I make any sort of profit from this story.

* * *

The party had been a predictably dull affair until she walked in.

Bruce was leaning idly against the bar, feigning interest in chatting with yet another boring dignitary, when the gentle hubbub of suddenly excited voices had drawn his attention. He made her out almost straight away, standing tall amidst a gaggle of would-be admirers and paparazzi, her poise and bearing setting her instantly apart.

The occasional phosphorous flash of a camera bulb lent a lustrous glow to her raven hair as the crowd pressed around her. She was floundering in the midst of all the attention, clearly unused to being bombarded with question after question, yet she somehow managed to remain radiant despite it. Even dressed in a simple black gown he fancied that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

On an impulse he started to cross the dance floor, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. To most men it would no doubt have seemed daring to publically approach such a beautiful woman, an act of courage to be boasted about in the company of other men. Had he been so inclined, he could have dined out on the story of how he approached Wonder Woman for months.

But then, he was not just any man. He was Batman. And asking Diana to dance represented a serious loss of control.

Lately his thoughts had been drifting to her more and more often. Just the other day he had been guilty of staring at Wonder Woman as she sat next to him on the meeting room table in the Watchtower, mooning over her like some silly schoolboy. Fortunately no one had noticed exactly where Bruce was looking beneath the lenses of his cowl, simply mistaking his lack of communication for his usual stoicism.

He seemed unable to shake the memories of Gorilla City that clung to him like the misty tendrils of a spider's web: that empty, hollow feeling in his stomach when he thought Diana was dead, the sheer relief of seeing her alive, how she branded him with the touch of her lips on his cheek. He should have realised back then that she was dangerous to him.

Approaching her like this, in a public place and out of costume, was definitely playing with fire. Unlike Clark and J'onn, Diana did not know his secret identity and he would prefer it to stay that way. Whilst undoubtedly naïve thanks to her upbringing on Themyscira, she was in many ways the most intuitive woman he had ever met. She seemed to have a way of cutting through to the truth of things, particularly about Bruce himself, that he found as intriguing as he found it unnerving. Exposing himself so boldly to her as his alter ego represented a definite risk.

Yet in truth there was no option other than to approach her tonight. The tangled web of personalities he had created for himself saw to that. Despite his better instincts he kept walking forward, his gait morphing into the peacock-like strut of the confident billionaire playboy, rather than the threatening, purposeful tread of Batman. To approach her was dangerous, failing to was equally so. Bruce Wayne was, after all, a serial womaniser, a man who had dated movie stars, playmates, and models. How could he reasonably resist a chance to add a princess to the list without blowing his cover?

"Damned if you do, Bruce, damned if you don't," he muttered.

By now he was just a few short steps away and his breath hitched slightly in his throat as he neared her. It had been many years since Bruce felt nervous around a woman and he had to concede that it was not a comfortable sensation. He decided to draw on the Bat, using the control he found there to ruthlessly quell the feeling of unease. He forced his lips to quirk into an amused smile as Diana was asked another inane question by one of her onlookers.

"Are you really from an island with no men?" Presumably the reporter thought this was the sort of insightful questioning that would land him a Pulitzer.

Wonder Woman assumed a blank, puzzled expression, clearly unsure how to respond. "Ummm... I..."

Bruce interjected himself smoothly amongst the crowd, extending his hand towards Diana. "May I have this dance?"

"Yes!" The look of relief on her face was almost palpable and she flashed Bruce a quick smile of appreciation.

With a few quick strides they were away from the throng and heading toward the middle of the dance floor. Bruce tried to ignore how much the mere touch of her hand seemed to sear his flesh like a naked flame. He was grateful that his back was to her so that she could not see how much she affected him.

With a deep breath he gathered himself before swinging Diana round to face him, concluding the move with practiced ease. Her azure eyes locked onto his own, coolly searching him for a hint of recognition.

"Thank you, Mister…"

He let go of her left hand, switching his hold to the small of her back as she gently grasped his shoulder in return. Her right hand was now cupped in his left and he felt the cool press of her vambrace against the skin of his knuckles.

"Wayne. Bruce Wayne." The playboy persona was to the fore now and he couldn't resist the affectation, even if he knew the meaning behind it was probably lost on Diana. Novels about fictional British super-spies were hardly required reading on Themyscira and he doubted she had seen any of the Bond films since coming to Man's World.

They sashayed to the left, then to the right, the other dancers whirling around them in a glitter of platinum cufflinks and diamond necklaces. A satellite dangled from the ceiling above, whilst an improbably positioned rocket took up one whole corner of the room, the red fins standing out boldly against the grey metal walls of the modernist museum. It reminded Bruce slightly of the Batcave, the way that he had scattered items such as the giant penny and tyrannosaur around the interior of the vast cavern below Wayne Manor.

He could make out Audrey, the host of the party and the _other_ princess present tonight, drinking punch at one of the tables, surrounded by a couple of burly bodyguards as she lapped up all the attention being lavished on her. The Kasnian Royal was highly attractive, vapid and self-obsessed – exactly the sort of girl Bruce Wayne would ordinarily have gone for – were it not for the fact of her impending marriage. He thanked heaven for small mercies and continued moving Wonder Woman gracefully around the dance floor.

Bruce was pleased to note that despite her height Diana was a good dancer, her posture elegant and moves assured. Up close like this she was simply…captivating. The other guests gradually faded into the background, mere supporting extras to her beauty. Her Wonder Woman armour might show off more of her flesh, but there was something altogether more alluring about Diana when she was dressed in attire like this. Seeing her outside of the formal confines of the League…it felt good.

"I appreciate the rescue," she said, knocking him from his train of thought.

Bruce flashed a slightly crooked grin in reply, knowing that it showed off the cute dimple on the right side of his face. "I'm surprised to see you here… From what I've heard this isn't really your sort of affair."

"I've decided to get out more," smiled Diana. "Have a little fun."

Bruce tried to remind himself that he was playing a part, simply maintaining the elaborate cover he had crafted for his chosen lifestyle. Yet he dearly wanted to be a part of her having fun, so he couldn't resist spinning Wonder Woman into an elegant pirouette. As she twirled away from him, her hand still clutched in his own, he realized with an unexpected clarity that trying to blame this situation on either of his twin personalities was a lie. He, the real Bruce Wayne, had wanted to dance with Diana. Not the Playboy. Not the Bat. Him.

For just the briefest of moments, in the split second between movements, Bruce allowed himself the luxury of imagining a future with this woman. He saw his feelings for her growing layer upon layer, gradually hardening into something beautiful, like a diamond or a pearl. In his mind's eye he pictured revealing his secret identity to her, the initial shock and anger followed by her grudging acceptance. He imagined a family, a boy and a girl, maybe more, and how Alfred would delight in hearing the laughter of children in the Manor. He had no doubt that Dick and Tim would spoil their younger siblings rotten, whilst Jim and Barbara, or maybe even Lois and Clark, would make good for the lack of cousins, aunts and uncles. With her great beauty, keen insight and warrior's instinct, Wonder Woman was perhaps the one woman in the world who could reconcile the two halves that made up the whole of Bruce Wayne.

Suddenly he found Diana was spinning back toward him. He slipped his hands around her waist as she completed the move by pressing her back firmly against his chest. Shoulder-to-shoulder, face-to-face, they were close enough that he could almost make out each individual eyelash. The honeyed scent of her breath was hot against his cheek and the arch of her body seemed to fit perfectly against his own, as though she belonged there.

But then, why _didn't_ she belong there? Didn't he deserve the chance at a loving relationship, a family of his own, at some sort of legacy beyond the mantle of Batman?

Bruce let the playboy come to the fore once again, decided to dare a more risqué question. "Enjoying yourself so far?"

"More than I expected," admitted Diana, a hint of a smile playing across her lips. "How about you? What brings you to the City of Lights?"

"I never miss a good party." The playboy again, but when he next spoke it was with a different persona, even if his voice did not reflect it. "I may also have to attend to some business when in town."

And there it was: the Bat, the elephant in the room. He imagined his future with Diana again and this time he saw it differently: how the darkness in both him and Gotham would corrupt the goodness within her, twisting her into something darker and more brutal. He saw her meting out increasingly vicious punishments to the scum that inhabited the streets of the city, unable to control her already formidable temper in the face of the evil she would witness every day.

He imagined growing aged and frail in her immortal presence, how she would be forced to feed him and change him and bathe him, to wheel him about in a wheelchair as a wizened old cripple. Or worse still, one day she would find him dead at the hand of one of his rogues' gallery—maybe stuck full of knives by the Joker, or perhaps driven insane by Scarecrow. How would she react then, full of grief and anger at the loss of her love? He knew full well that she would tear Gotham apart brick by brick, destroy the very city he had sworn to protect.

No, there was no getting away from the lonely life that he had chosen for himself. Bruce Wayne didn't get the chance for a happy ending; ever since his parents had been gunned down in front of him all those years ago, the path of his fate had been set. Deep down, in his heart of hearts, he knew the Mission would eventually kill him. Despite his training, despite the extreme limits to which he pushed his body each and every day, the time would come when he would get older and slower, weaker and more vulnerable. Even the Bat wouldn't be able to spare him from the inevitable ravages of time.

It was far more likely he would wind up with a knife in the gut or a bullet in the back than see out his dotage in a family home, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. To have someone else go through the pain of his death, to make them feel as he did when his mother and father were killed… he wasn't sure that he could inflict that on anyone, least of all Diana.

As the mournful flute of the jazz band cut across his melancholy thoughts, Batman resolved to harden his heart, to steel it against what he felt for Diana. He would do what was necessary to protect the Mission. Starting with cementing his cover tonight.

He was just about to grab Diana's butt, to offend her in such a manner that she had no choice but to view Bruce as the most boorish example of what Man's World had to offer, when the ceiling of the museum exploded inward. Shards of serrated glass smashed noisily onto the floor and the roar of rotor blades filled the room. Half a dozen uniformed thugs parasailed down from the hovering helicopter, guns pointed threateningly from their hips. They made an immediate beeline for Princess Audrey, easily swatting aside her incompetent bodyguards as they slipped a harness over the Kasnian Royal.

"Excuse me." Diana had her back to him as she watched the scene unfold before them. From the tension in her muscles, so beguilingly revealed by the dress she was wearing, he knew that she was preparing to intervene. Adopting the mantle of the Bat, he made ready to do likewise. Now was not the time to worry about romance, but for action.

This dance, this moment, his thoughts and feelings; they could wait for another time.

As they always had done.


End file.
